Dmitry Glukhovsky - Metro 2034 English fan translation (v1.0) (docx)

Metro 2034

Author Dmitry Glukhovsky

2009

Translated from the German version by:

Metro2033Artjom

Annotations:

This is the translation of the German version of Metro 2034 into English. English is not my first language. This translation is as closest to the German Version is it gets. Some sentences had to be changed so that the grammar would make sense. They still incorporate the message of the sentence.

I didn’t get paid translating this book and neither did I want to earn money with this translation.

Dmitry Glukhovsky is the author of Metro 2034 and all rights are reserved to him. No copyright abuse / infringement was intended.

Have fun reading.

(Please report any mistakes to me, by chapter-page-line, to my YouTube channel Metro2033Artjom)

Oh and before I forget, if something is written in brackets and is underlined than it is one of my notes)

Prologue

It is the year 2034. The world lies in ruins. Humanity is almost destroyed. Radiation has made the destroyed cities uninhabitable. Outside their borders, some say, endless burnt wastelands and impenetrable mutated forests extend forever.

But nobody knows exactly what there is. Civilization fades away. And the memories of mankinds former greatness slowly retreat fairy tales and legends.

It has been over twenty years since the last airplane had started. Rusted train tracks lead into emptiness. And when the radio operator listens for the millionth time to the frequencies where once New York, Paris, Tokyo and Buenos Aires broadcasted, he hears nothing but lonely howling.

It has been twenty years since
then
. But mankind has already left up its reign over the earth to other species.

Creatures of radiation which are far better adapted to the life in this new world.

The era of man is over.

But the survivors don’t want to admit that. Some ten thousand humans are left and they don’t know, if except for them any are still alive – or if they are the last in this world.

They inhabit the Moscow metro, the biggest atomic bunker that had ever been built by human hands.

The last sanctuary for humanity.

Almost all of the survivors were in the metro on
that
day. And that saved their lives. The hermetic security gates of the stations protected them against the radiation and the terrible creatures on the surface. Old filters purify air and water. By resourceful tinkerers constructed dynamo machines generate electricity. In underground farms humans farm champignons and breed pigs. The poor don’t fear away from rat meat.

A central administration doesn’t exist anymore. The stations have transformed themselves into small states, where humans gather around ideology, religion and water filters. Or just unite against enemy attacks.

It is a world without tomorrow. Dreams, plans, hopes – for all that there is no more place. Feelings made place for instincts and the most important of all – to survive. At all costs.

The story before the events of this book is told in the book “Metro 2033”.

The defense of the
Sev
astopolska
y
a
(Chapter one)

They didn’t return, neither Tuesday, nor Wednesday or Thursday – the last appointed date. The outer guard post was manned around the clock and if the guards would have just heard the faint echo of a cry for help or seen the weak reflection of a lamp on the wet and dark tunnel walls there where it went to the
Nachimov
ski prospect
, they would have sent a strike team immediately.

Tensions grew with every hour. The guards – excellently armed soldiers and especially trained for missions like that – didn’t close their eyes for a second. The stack of playing cards, with which they usually killed time through the missions, was collecting dust for about two days in the drawer of the guardhouse now. Their casual conversations gave away to short, nervous talks and now fatal silence reigned.

Everyone hoped to be the first to hear the echoing steps of the returning caravan. Too much depended on it.

All inhabitants of the
Sev
astopolskay
a
, whether five year old boy or old man knew how to handle weapons. They had transformed their station into an impenetrable fortress.

Even though they barricaded themselves behind machinegun-nests, barbed wire, yes even tank-stoppers made
out of tracks, this impenetrable fortress was threatening to fall in a blink of an eye. Their Achilles heel was the shortage of ammunition.

Had the inhabitants of other stations experienced what the
Sev
astopolskaja
had to endure on a daily basis, they wouldn’t have wasted a thought about defending themselves but fled like rats out of a flooded tunnel. Even powerful Hanza, the federation of the stations at the ring line, wouldn’t have ordered additional forces in case of an emergency – due to costs. Sure, the strategic importance of the
Sev
astopolskay
a
was enormous. But the price was too high.

So was the price for electricity. So high that the inhabitants of the
Sev
astopolskay
a
, who had created one of the biggest hydroelectric power stations in the metro
,
let themselves be supplied by Hanza with ammunition and were even able to turn a profit. But many of them didn’t just pay with bullets, but with a crippled, short live.

The groundwater was a blessing and a curse for the
Sev
astopolskay
a
. Like the waters of the river
Styx
it flew around the rotten boat of Charon. The whole station was surrounded by water. The groundwater gave a third of the ring line light and warmth, because it set the shovels of dozens of water mills in motion. These had been created by
skillful engineers of the station using their own plans, in tunnels, caves, underwater creeks, to put it blandly: Where all requirements were fulfilled.

At the same time the water gnawed incessantly on the pillars, gradually loosened the cement out of the cracks passing by very close behind the walls of the station like if it was trying to lull the inhabitants to sleep. The groundwater prevented them to blow up unnecessary parts of the tunnels.

And exactly through these tunnels hordes of nightmarish creatures move towards the
Sev
astopolskay
a
, like an endless poisonous centipede crawling into a grinder.

The residents of the station felt like the crew of a ghost ship on its way through hell. They were damned to fill the holes constantly because the frigate had been leaking for a long time. And a harbor where they could find protection and silence wasn’t in sight.

At the same time they had to fend off one attack after another, because from the
Tschertanov
skay
a
in the south and from the
Nachimov
ski
prospect
to the north of the station, monsters crawled through the vents, appeared from the murky sewers or stormed out of the tunnels. The whole world seemed to be against the
Sev
astopolskay
a
and trying to erase their home station from the metro’s map. But they defended
their station with tooth and nail, like it was the last fortress in the entire universe.

But no matter how skillful the engineers were, how tough and relentless the training of their fighters was – without bullets, without light bulbs for the spotlights, without antibiotics and bandages they wouldn’t be able to hold the station. Of course they delivered electricity and Hanza was willing to pay a good price. But while the ring line had other and own suppliers; the
Sev
astopolskay
a
wouldn’t survive a month without supplies from outside. And their supply of bullets reached a dangerously low count.

Every week armed caravans were sent to the
Serpuchov
skay
a
to use their earned credit to pay the merchants of Hanza for everything that was needed and return immediately. As long as the earth would turn, as long as the underground rivers flowed and as long as the metro would hold, nothing would change that.

This time the return of the caravan had been delayed.

And so much so that there was only one explanation:

Something unexpected must have happened, something terrible, something that even the heavy armed caravan guards or not even the long and good relations with the leadership of Hanza could have prevented.

The whole situation would have been a lot less unsettling when at least they could communicate with the ring line.

But something was wrong with the telephone line to the ring line; they had lost the connection on Monday and the squad that had been sent to find the faulty part of the line returned without any results.

The lamp with the green lampshade was hanging low over the round table. It illuminated some yellowed papers on which graphics and diagrams were drawn on with pencil. It was a weak bulb, maybe 40 watts, but not because you had to save electricity – that was certainly no problem at the
Seva
stopolskay
a
- but because the owner of the office didn’t like glaring light. The ashtray was full of cigarette butts – all self-made and of bad quality. Biting, blue-grey smoke collected itself under the low ceiling.

The head of the station, Vladimir Ivanovitsch Istomin wiped his forehead, raised his hand and looked with his one eye at his watch – for the fifth time in the last half hour. He
crackled his fingers and stood up burdensome. “A decision must be found. We can no longer delay it”.

On the other side of the table sat an older but strong built man with a lined camouflaged jacket and a worn blue beret. He opened his mouth to say something, but he had to cough badly. Grumpily he narrowed his eyes and cleared away the smoke with his hand. Then he said: “Well, Vladimir Ivanovitsch, I repeat it again: We can’t withdraw anymore forces from the southern tunnel. The pressure on the guards is enormous – even now they almost can’t hold it. Last week alone they had three wounded, one of them heavy and that even with the fortifications. I won’t sit here and watch how you continue to weaken the south. Especially when we need to have six scouts patrolling in the vents and the connecting tunnels at all times. And in the north we have to secure the arriving caravans, we can’t spare a single fighter there. I am sorry, but you will have to search by yourself”.

“You are the commander of the outer guard post, so you search!” growled Vladimir. “I deal with my own business. In one hour a group must leave. We both think in different ways. This isn’t just about our problems here and now! What if something worse happened?”

“And I think, Vladimir Ivanovitsch that you are over reacting. We have two unopened crates of 5.45 caliber in the armory which would last us over one and a half weeks. And then I still have something at home under my pillow.” The colonel smiled, so that his big, yellow teeth could be seen. “I can surely get another crate together. Bullets aren’t our problem, but people”

“And now I tell you again what our problem is. If we don’t get any shipments anymore, we will have to close the gates to the south because without ammunition we can’t hold the tunnels anyway. That means that we can’t maintain two thirds of our mills anymore. Just after a week the first will break down and Hanza doesn’t like a loss in current delivery at all. If they are lucky they will find a new supplier immediately, if not … But what do I care about the electricity! For almost five days now the tunnels are stone-dead and not a single pig is in sight. What if something collapsed? Or broke through? What if we’re now cut off?”

“Hold your breath. The power lines are alright. The counters are running, so Hanza seems to be getting their electricity. We would have noticed a collapse immediately. And if it was sabotage, than the power line would have been cut and not the telephone line. As for the tunnel – what are
you afraid of? Even in good times nobody strayed away from the other tunnels, got lost and ended up here. Alone at the
Nachimov
ski prospect
: Without an escort you can’t get through. Foreign merchants haven’t risked coming to us for a long time. And the bandits already know – after all we left one of them go alive every time. So don’t panic”.

“Easy for you to say.” Growled Vladimir Ivanovitsch, lifted the eye patch from his empty eye socket and wiped the sweet from his forehead.

“I’ll give you three men.” Said the colonel, now a little milder. “More isn’t possible, all things considered. And you should stop smoking. You know it’s not good for me and furthermore you are poisoning yourself! I would prefer a tea to be honest …”

“But please, it is my pleasure.” Vladimir rubbed his hands together, took the telephone receiver and barked: ”Istomin here, Tea for me and the colonel.”

“Let the officer on duty come as well.” Said the commander of the outer guard posts as he took off his beret.